Street Rat Rhapsody
by Banisters
Summary: Our life ain't nothing but a rhapsody. A street rat rhapsody, and you and me, we're just the chorus in it.[Modern, No Slash, Rated T For LanguageSexual Content]


_Death defying this  
Mess I'm buying its  
Raining down with love and hate  
Now, I find it hard to motivate_  
-The Red Hot Chili Peppers, "Hard To Concentrate"

-

"I'm failin'. It's as simple as that. _I'm. Failin'. Science._"

A strand of dirty blond hair flopped messily against Jack's forehead. Caught up in frustration, he didn't even bother to brush it away from his eyes. I watch as he gnawed the wood of his pencil, occasionally spitting splinters from his mouth onto the pages of his homework as if they were watermelon seeds. My eyes wandered to the cluttered thread of words on his paper and I could barely make out "covalent bond" and "ion." Sighing, Jack placed down his pencil, which had come to resemble the work of a caffeine-driven beaver.

"Well, maybe you wouldn't be failing if you concentrated on your work instead of destroying pencils," I said while pulling a pack of cigarettes from my back pocket. I offered him one and he accepted it graciously. Technically, we weren't allowed to smoke on school grounds, but no one came out to the bleachers until exactly 4: 27, when the lacrosse team invaded the field for practice. Jack lit the butt of the cigarette and watched it glow for a moment before taking a much-needed drag.

"Yeah, well it ain't my fault I can't concentrate," he growled, blowing a stream of smoke from his nostrils and watching it drift into the sky. "I just got diagnosed with ADD the other day. I have an excuse. Stick _that_ in your juice box and _suck it_."

I smiled and shook my head wearily before snatching away Jack's cigarette to greedily inhale my daily nicotine. He grabbed it back and shoved me playfully, then returned what little attention he had back to his science. Our study sessions on the bleachers really never accomplished anything, except for maybe lung cancer and bruises from hitting each other.

"What the hell is an ionic bond?" he asked me, drumming his fingers on the bleacher in anticipation of the answer.

"How should I know?"

"You have a fuckin' B plus, Blink, that's why."

"Fine," I muttered. I hated directly telling him the answer. It made me feel responsible for his mistakes, especially when what I said turned out to be wrong. Combine my errors with his already declining grade and POOF, you get a miserable Jack Kelly who has to attend summer school. "Ionic bonding is when two atoms share valence electrons."

From his blank stare, it was obvious that Jack had no idea was I was talking about. Heck, most of the time I had no idea what came out of my mouth either. While Jack was the ADD kid, I was the child who was unfortunate enough to be plagued witha disease called "impulsivity". It's not a real disease, of course, but it's been a problem since I was young. I've always said what's on my mind, whether I mean it or not. The first thought that sprouts in my brain involuntarily blossoms on my tongue, and before I can stop it, I have a bouquet of inappropriate words blooming between my teeth. When I say inappropriate, I don't mean vulgar…just…well, not the right thing to say. I've called people fat, ugly, stupid, and just about everything insulting in the book before registering that what I'd blurted out was hurtful.

"…What's a valence electron?"

"Fuck it, Jack. Where the hell is your head while we're in class? In between Sarah's legs? O-R-A-L?"

"Hey, Blink. I think somebody's callin' you." Jack pressed his pointer finger and pinkie against his ear, making his hand resemble a phone. "Oh? What's that?" He pretended to speak into the "phone" and the imaginary person on the other line. "Sure, I'll tell him."

"Who was that?" I inquired pitifully, already aware that the conversation Jack had was between him and his cynical side.

"Oh, just a little someone." Jack grinned ear to ear at me, cigarette cocked in the corner of his lips. I rolled my eyes, bracing myself for the punch line that would follow whatever reply I muttered.

"And what did that someone say?"

"Fuck you!"

"I thought so."

Both of us found ourselves laughing hysterically and swearing at our immaturity. We were chuckling so hard we didn't even notice the lacrosse team trot onto the field. The coach, Mr. Gyles, gave us a fierce glare when he saw us sprawled out on the bleachers, lying on a blanket of assignments and folders. Along with the no smoking rule, there was some stupid rule that forbid anyone to hang out near the fields unless they were there for practice. I guess after catching enough kids making out or getting high, the school board decided to prohibit it.

"Boys, get off of there!" Mr. Gyles shouted. His mouth was crooked and he talked like the stereotypical coach: mean, clueless, and downright Southern. He had a terrible buzz cut that revealed every inch of his square head. An expensive pair of Oakley's rested beneath his thick eyebrows. I didn't understand how a high school coach could afford such luxurious sunglasses, but I guess that's beyond my concern. Jack and me ground our cigarettes beneath our shoes and gathered our belongings. We trotted silently down the steps of the bleachers and stood face to face with the sunburned face of Mr. Gyles.

"Were you two _smoking_?" he growled, his nose twitching in an attempt to sniff out the tobacco. I took a whiff of the air was relieved to find that we didn't smell.

"Why, of course not, sir." Jack smirked. I've been trying to convince him to join drama club or something, because _boy_, can my friend put on an act. He was a certified liar, and proud of it. Unlike me, he knew how to use mouth to his advantage. Now me, I probably would have just admitted our "crime", but Jack can handle the pressure as if it's nothing. You can look him straight in the eye, and he could tell you that unicorns are real, and you'd probably believe it. "I would never smoke. Not only does it turn your lungs black, but it's addictive. I'm not willing to sacrifice a good set o' lungs for a quick form of relief that will leave me suffering through unbearable cravings. Smoking just doesn't fit my character, sir."

Mr. Gyles scowled but turned away from us, murmuring something about the "no bleachers" rule before tending to his team. I glanced at the boys, their bodies covered by Under Armor and a protective layer of pads. I didn't know most of them (they _were_ seniors after all, and I was just a junior). However, I recognized Mush, who was squatting down, motivated and pumped up for his two hour practice. When we were freshmen, he'd trained so hard to make the cut for lacrosse. Every day, he dedicated his time to cradling, catching, shooting, and sprinting. When try outs rolled around, the coach was so impressed by his skills he didn't even consider putting Mush on JV. His first day of practice, he was sweating and struggling right beside the varsity players.

"How does he do that?" Jack said, nodding towards Mush. "How can he just _sit there_ and _listen?_"

"Whadaya mean?"

"Mush can sit there and listen without his mind wandering off like mine. Shoot, if I was out there right now, I'd be picking grass outta the dirt or thinking about somethin' else."

"He could be thinking about how "hot" his abs are, for all you know," I laughed, even though I knew his mind was totally devoted to lacrosse.

"Yeah…but…At least he looks like he's focused. People can tell when I'm daydreamin'. They say my face looks different, like I'm contemplating somethin' real serious. It's just…it's so hard to concentrate."

"But…I mean…are you gonna start taking Ritalin soon? It would make things easier."

"Nah," Jack said, turning away from the field. He reached into his backpack and pulled out a white knot of i-pod headphones. He struggled briefly to untangle them, and when he succeeded in doing so, he gingerly pushed the buds into his ears. I tried to see what song he was playing, but Jack burrowed the device into his pocket.

"Nah," he repeated. "They wanna put me on Concerta, maybe even Strattera. But I don't want them to."

"Why's that?"

"Cuz daydreams are the only dreams I have. I don't want nobody takin' them away."

-

**Author's Note:  
Okay everyone. New story. I figure each chapter (with the exception of this one) will be around 2,000 words and yeah. Every chapter will be based on a Red Hot Chili Peppers song.  
**


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